


absence makes the heart

by violentdarlings



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Film, Snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: Newt's in London to present his manuscript. And Leta... is Leta.





	

Newt had thought that his years without seeing Leta would numb him, somehow, to the memory of her. That if he relegated her to the status of ‘old school friend, very dull, _for Merlin’s sake don’t think of her_ ’, then it would be easier. The thing that burns and aches for her in his chest – it would fade into embers, and die a slow, cold, lonely death. He’s almost convinced, some days, that he doesn’t love her anymore. Sometimes, he can pretend he never loved her at all.

He’s back in London to submit his manuscript to the Ministry, even if he still feels he left a little piece of himself in New York. Maybe it has something to do with Jacob or Queenie – _Tina_ – or saying goodbye to Frank. Or the fact that he could breathe in New York, really breathe, despite the smog and the pressing terror for his creatures, lost and alone in a world full of predators.

The Ministry hasn’t changed, and he’s not sure why he’d expected it to. The Ministry has been the same for decades, centuries, and will probably continue to be the same long after he has died.

Newt’s lost.

He’s got his case in one hand and his manuscript clutched in the other, and he can’t find the way to the Beast Division, never mind that he worked here for years, because Leta’s coming down the hall and oh dear Merlin this can’t be happening.

She’s with someone, a man, and her robes are black and her hair is black and how dare she look so beautiful, he thinks it might be breaking his heart. She walks straight past him and Newt hardly minds, because the only thing worse than her ignoring him would be to have to speak to her, when he can hardly find the words to speak to ordinary people, let alone Leta.

But she notices. Of course she does. She pauses, and doubles back, and she’s looking at him and her eyes are ink dark, fathomless, the night sky without the glitter of stars to guide him. He can’t do this. He can’t endure her and he can’t walk away from her and Leta, Leta, impossible to forget her, as much a part of him as his scars and his skin.

“Mr Scamander,” she says, her voice cool, and she doesn’t seem surprised to see him, although perhaps Leta is better at hiding her emotions now. She never used to be, her feelings used to display themselves in the curl of her lip or the bright glint of her eyes, the flash of unrestrained joy that would whip across her face at the sight of some new creature she’d never encountered before.

“Miss Lestrange,” he replies, like they’re strangers, like he doesn’t know each loop and curl of her handwriting as intimately as he knows his own, like he doesn’t wake sometimes convinced he can scent her on the air and hear her voice just out of reach.

There are things that have changed. She has gained some of the haughtiness inherent to pure blood witches of her family’s… _association_ , but there is still a glimmer of mirth lurking in her face, like she still knows how ridiculous it all is, that blood purity lunacy. And oh, the arid plains and the sweltering jungles and the freezing Arctic, all the places he has been, none of them have cleansed from him the thump of his heart in his chest like a drum and his sweating palms and he’s stammering and shaking and she must know what she does to him, she must have always known.

“I trust you’re well,” Leta says lightly, and Newt has been standing here gaping at her like a fool, Merlin, what she must think. He nearly trips over himself replying.

“I -yes, well – well enough, thank you,” he mutters.

“Leta!” calls the man down the hall; his pointed face and white-blond hair is vaguely familiar. Newt can’t help himself.

“Friend of yours?” he asks. Leta grimaces.

“Colleague.” Newt chances a glance back at the stranger.

“But he’d like to be more,” he dares. Just for a moment, Leta smiles, as quick and blinding as a Hungarian Horntail about to strike.

“He will be waiting a long while, then,” she replies. “I have no desire to wed a Malfoy, or any other blood-blind fool, for that matter.” She touches his arm, and Newt nearly jumps out of his skin. “You look well, Newt,” she says softly, just for him. “Happy.” Newt swallows.

“it’s good to see you,” he replies, and something lights in Leta’s face, as though she’s been hiding a part of herself deep inside for the longest time.

“And you,” she says, and she’s walking away, and oh, he should have known, that time and distance and Helga Hufflepuff herself couldn’t stop Newt from loving Leta, when his star has been hitched so irrevocably to her own.


End file.
